


Kiss Me

by lahdolphin



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 03:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1673396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lahdolphin/pseuds/lahdolphin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akutagawa had never been kissed before. He figures it’s alright, only because it’s Atobe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me

_Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance,_  
 _Silver moon's sparkling,  
_ _So kiss me._

**\- "Kiss Me" by The Fray (cover)**

 

* * *

 

Akutagawa falls asleep under the shade of a large oak tree during the middle of tennis practice. The summer air is hot and dry, and his uniforms sticks to his skin wherever his body curves. The tree overlooks the courts from a large hill, and the shade is too tempting to pass up, and he closes his eyes for just a moment to rest. He doesn’t hear shoes crunching against the dead brown grass, or the halt of footsteps, and he doesn’t anticipate the hand on his shoulder gently shaking him.

“Jirou,” Atobe says, squatting near to Akutagawa, who is curled up like a cat. “Jirou, we have practice.”

“Five more minutes,” Akutagawa grumbles.

“Jirou.”

“‘tobe.”

Atobe tilts his head to the side, staring. He moves his hand off of Akutagawa’s shoulder, drags his finger tips up Akutagawa’s neck to his cheek, and cups his face in his hand, rubbing his thumb in circles over heated skin. Akutagawa nuzzles into his hand and shifts, but does not fight the touch. Atobe smiles warmly. Akutagawa doesn’t see.

Atobe shifts to one knee, slides his hand up into Akutagawa’s curly hair, and leans down. He presses his lips gently to his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and finally, fully onto his lips. Atobe closes his eyes as Akutagawa opens his.

Akutagawa reaches up, grabbing onto the back of Atobe’s neck, hot with sweat and sunburn, propping himself up with his other arm so Atobe doesn’t have to lean down so far. Atobe tastes like sweat and smells like it too. Akutagawa moves his lips languidly. Atobe’s fingers tighten slowly, in time with the tightness in chest and the uncomfortable swelling in his throat that makes him feel like he’s suffocating. 

“‘tobe,” Akutagawa murmurs, pecking Atobe on the corner of his mouth, then kissing him again on the lips. “‘tobe.”

“Yes, that is my name,” Atobe replies. “Is there something you want? Maybe to come back to practice?”

Falling back into the grass and dirt, Akutagawa laughs until it hurts. He had never been kissed before. He figures it’s alright, only because it’s Atobe.

“Five more minutes,” Akutagawa says, closing his eyes again.

“Five more minutes,” Atobe says, smiling softly.

 

* * *

The Senior Formal is held on a huge, decorated ship docked in a harbor towards the end of summer. Akutagawa leaves the dance hall where Shishido and Mukahi are looking for single girls and spiking cups of punch, and steps outside onto the ship deck. The strung up Christmas lights glow softly, reflecting on the salty water of the harbor, and the metal railing is pleasantly warm when Akutagawa rest his torso on it and leans over the edge. The water is too dark and too far away to see his reflection.

His feet hurt, and he can’t take his shoes off like the girls can, and his bow tie is going to strangle him. He has a hickey on his neck from a boy with a date, and he hates the whimsical dance music coming from the hall because he isn’t that date. The date is a girl, a pretty girl, with breasts and high heels, and a pretty dress that matches the boy’s handkerchief. Akutagawa’s handkerchief doesn’t match anyone’s. 

“You left,” Atobe says, walking up towards Akutagawa. He leans against the rail in a position identical to Akutagawa’s, only slightly more awkward because he’s taller.

“Where’s your date?” Akutagawa asks.

“Jirou—“

“I thought I would be okay with it, but I’m not!” Akutagawa says. “I know it’s because people can’t find out about us, but I don’t care. I hate seeing you with her. It’s not fair to her, or me. Mostly me.”

“Mostly you.” Atobe doesn’t sound like he’s mocking him, but it feels like it. “Jirou…”

“I want to be with you. I’m sick of pretending to be just your friend. I hate that you have to hug and touch her to make everyone believe it, too.” Akutagawa turns and stares at him. Atobe is staring right back. “I love you,” Akutagawa admits. “I love you, Atobe.”

“Then come and dance with me.”

Atobe moves away from the railing and stands in the light. He bows forward, crosses his ankles, offers out his hand, and Akutagawa laughs. He takes Atobe by the hand, and they walk inside with their fingers laced, and everyone stares and gasps and whispers. The crowd clears a path as Atobe leads his real date to the center of the dance floor, taking him by the waist and pulling him against his chest. 

Akutagawa kisses Atobe in front of everyone. Shishido cat calls, Mukahi claps, and Akutagawa can’t even hear them when Atobe’s hands are moving up into his hair to hold him tight. They part, smiling, forwards pressed together, hands moving back down to their sides. 

They fall into a slow dance.

 

* * *

Everyone tells them they’re crazy. Akutagawa doesn’t doubt it. But that doesn’t stop him from dropping out of university and following Atobe to Europe, where they live in a small apartment over looking some river in a place where he can’t speak the language. The bathtub is claw footed, and the bed has curtains, and the fruit they feed to each other in bed is fresh from the market down the street. They prop the windows open with plush chairs, and toss ornamental pillows off the bed to make love, and put flowers from the market where Akutagawa works wherever they can.

Akutagawa sits in the large armchair near the window in his underwear, knees pulled to his chest with his sketchbook resting against his thighs. The curtains around the bed are pulled open, tied against ornamental posts, and Atobe lies naked against the sheets in the middle of the day. Akutagawa drags charcoal along the paper, glancing up and down, trying to make it perfect.

“Jirou?”

“Don’t move,” Akutagawa says. “I’m working.”

Atobe adjusts the pillow under his head, subtly adjusting his legs, and smiles at Akutagawa. The muscles of his bare thighs tense, and his back curves, and his smile is sensual. 

“My body is gorgeous, isn’t it?” Atobe says.

“I’ve seen better.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.”

“Who?” 

Akutagawa begins to count off on his fingers, and Atobe gasps in mock horror. Before Akutagawa can laugh, Atobe tosses a feather pillow at his head and is approaching, hips swaying and lips tilted in another smile. Atobe kneels on the ground in front of Akutagawa, who puts his legs on either side of Atobe’s head and puts his sketchbook aside. 

“Jirou,” Atobe says, kissing Akutagawa’s bare knee, then thigh, then stomach. “We should visit that bakery again, and perhaps the butcher while we’re out.” Atobe stands on his knees and kisses Akutagawa’s chin. “I’m starving.”

“Ravenous?” Akutagawa suggest, threading his fingers into Atobe’s bed hair.

“Famished, actually,” Atobe says.

Akutagawa smiles, kisses him, and says, “Let me get dressed.”

“Do you have to?” Akutagawa picks up the pillow and hits it against Atobe’s head. Atobe laughs, “Alright, Jirou, alright. But we’re removing those awful clothes from you when we come back inside. You look much better naked and in bed.”

 

* * *

The air in Japan feels foreign. Akutagawa sits on the rusty swing set in the backyard of his childhood home, rocking back and forth under the light from the porch. He can look inside the large kitchen window, and he can see his family and Atobe talking, laughing, enjoying a meal Akutagawa’s made. Akutagawa can still taste the sweet lemon of the dessert if he focuses hard enough.

A little girl opens the sliding door and shouts, “Uncle Jirou! Come inside!”

Atobe puts a large hand on the tiny girl’s head, says, “I’ll get Uncle Jirou,” and comes outside. He slides the door shut behind him. He stands behind Akutagawa, pushing him on the swings, looking at yard where the two of them used to sneak out to so they could let off fireworks Atobe had imported, and try and see who could climb the oak tree the highest, and drink strawberry lemonade while they studied, and kiss when no one was around to see.

Now there is no need to hide.

“Your family loves me simply because I’m part of you,” Atobe says arbitrarily.

“Hmm?”

“You were thinking about it, weren’t you? I can tell.”

“Liar,” Akutagawa says, kicking the air as Atobe pushes him. He doesn’t deny it, though, because he was thinking about it. He was thinking about how they don’t need fake girlfriends, or premeditated lies to tell their families, or friends to cover for them. He says, “There’s no way you could tell that.”

“I could.”

“Could not.”

“Could too.”

Akutagawa digs his feet into the ground, coming to a stop. He tilts his head back, hitting Atobe’s stomach, and looks up at the man and the stars high above their heads.

“Kiss me,” Akutagawa says, smiling like a child. He kicks his legs and grins. “Kiss me, Keigo.”

Atobe sighs, but he doesn’t say no. He never says no to Akutagawa.

 


End file.
